Silent Amber
by dbackflash
Summary: Colossus embarks on a quest to save Kitty Pryde from her doom after saving the Earth, only to find she is threatened by a much darker and more ancient evil. Chapter three: The Sitra Ahra makes their appearance.
1. Chapter 1: The Demoness Unbound

Note: The X-Men are the property of Marvel Comics. They are used without permission and for purposes of entertainment only.

Silent Amber

Chapter 1 – The Demoness Unbound

Peter Rasputin kneeled and watched Ord of the Breakworld burn. He had no idea if the proud warrior ever heard his final words to him, but if so, he hoped they brought him some small measure of comfort in his waning moments. The proud alien warrior who had restored him to life only to torment him for years no longer existed in Peter's mind. Whatever rage he held for what Ord had done had been exhausted after Katya had helped him escape. All that remained now was sympathy, for a man he knew would do anything to preserve his planet and his people, had tried and not only failed, but discovered he was naught but an unwitting pawn, used by a madwoman to bring about the very prophecy he sought to prevent. His final sacrifice had undone that damage, however, and saved the world. It was something he deserved to know before the burning light of the energy field surrounding the planetary power core disintegrated his body into nothing.

When it was over, Peter stood and walked away, himself immune to the fiery corona surrounding him. Nothing more remained for him here. His mission was done, Aghanne now one more life to add to the list of those taken by his hand, a list already too large in his opinion, and had been so since the very first name inscribed. There was no time to dwell on such things, so he shunted the thought off to the side in favor of more pressing concerns. Emma's last words to him had been as dire as they were urgent. The missile launch had not been prevented in time and it was on its way to Earth. Stopping it before it reached its target was now everyone's only concern and priority.

He did not expect them to be waiting for him on the other side.

"Glad to see ya back, Petey," Logan said. His voice lacked much of its token gruffness, sounding more grim and weary, as though each word were an immense weight. He was standing on the walkway bridge, a short distance from the energy field. Next to him Hank managed to look very much like a pacing cat despite not moving from his spot. Hisako hung close behind, saying nothing, her posture and expression pensive and uncomfortable. Their uniforms were riddled with tears and scorch marks, evidence of the ferocity of their recent battle.

Peter checked himself, pausing just past the outer edge of the energy field as he regarded the trio assembled before him. "Something has happened to Katya," he said. There was no other way to interpret their behavior combined with her absence.

Logan and Hank's faces tightened as they wrestled with how to explain what had happened. Hisako beat them to it. "She was inside," she said in a small voice. The words may as well have been thunderclaps beating through the air around them.

Even in his steel form, Peter felt as if his blood had suddenly been replaced with ice water. The smooth metal of his face drew down into a grimace of frustration, worry and tightly controlled anger. Succumbing to the urge to express his fury and loss, even in the smallest of ways, would accomplish nothing to undo what had been done to his beloved. "Is she…?" He left the question hanging, fearful of what the answer might be.

"She's alive," Logan said, and a wave of relief washed over Peter as the fist around his heart unclenched slightly. It was the smallest of mercies, only enough to give him the kernel of hope he needed to fully master himself and not succumb to the icy fingers of despair and loss clawing at him.

Hank stepped forward and placed a reassuring paw on his shoulder. "We're doing everything we can to save her," he said, yellow, felinoid eyes meeting Peter's steel grey gaze. All the words offered was an anemic hope, empty of any real promise of success. He didn't doubt his friend's sincerity, but stopping the missile now that it had been fired had already seemed a formidable task. To do so without bringing harm to Katya could prove impossible. It would be too difficult and dangerous for her to phase herself free. The past few days had proven how taxing the metal of Breakworld was on her, rendering her at times barely able to speak, stand or even think clearly. Her rescue would have to come from without, or not at all.

The image of their final conversation before parting was still fresh in his mind; He could still see the worry in her hazel eyes, the feel of her arms around him as they embraced, the smell of her hair. She was the only pearl in this fetid oyster of a planet. Perhaps this could have been averted if he had objected to her part in Scott's plan. It was a tempting thought, but just as he had chosen to follow along over her concerns, he knew she would have insisted in fulfilling her role as well. It wasn't in her nature to do anything less. Peter forced himself to remember that it was also the nature of the X-Men to do the seeming impossible, especially when the world or even the universe was at stake. If a way existed to save Kitty, it would be found. With that thought to cloister away the threat of despair swelling in his heart, Peter answered Hank with a slow nod. "What is the plan?"

"Slim and Frost are off chasing the bullet," Logan growled. So it wasn't a missile after all. Peter frowned at the unexpected term and what its implications might be, but said nothing. "An' almost every hero on Earth's at the Peak working on it from their end. Our job is finding out what the thing's weakness is."

Hank took a moment to adjust the spectacles perched upon his broad, furry nose. "So far it's proven to be quite the endeavor. Agent Brand tells us our good friend Kruun will know of any flaw in the bullet's design." He inclined his head to where the emerald haired officer was supervising a cluster of SWORD agents restraining the fallen Powerlord. Her verdigris hair was a tangled mess and though she disguised it well, Peter detected a slight twinge of pain wash over her when she took a step. She had not escaped the battle unscathed, not that it seemed to affect her stoic demeanor or bulldog authority in the slightest. Hank caught her eyes – it seemed strange to Peter to see her without her signature green shades – and she responded with a curt nod and moved toward them. "Unfortunately, thus far he has refused to speak on the matter."

Peter needed no further explanation of what his teammate was driving at. A shadow of menace fell over his face. "He _will_ talk to _me_."

"You're right about that, and only to you," Agent Brand said, interposing herself between Hank and Logan as if their existence was no concern of hers. The walkway was becoming overly crowded in Peter's opinion. "But not just yet. You up for a quick lesson in Breakworld culture? "

) – (

The mansion was wrapped in silence but for the soft footfalls and rustling of skirts from its lone occupant. Ruth Aldine wandered, but not aimlessly. Despite the thick, dark cloth covering her eyes, the blindfold for which she was named, her steps were slow and sure, as aware and familiar of the halls as any lifelong resident of Xavier's. The still air was pleasantly warm, but the young mutant clutched her purple shawl close to her body, as if warding off a chill no other could sense.

Shadows from the recent past played around her in each room she passed. A beam of lambent energy enveloping the X-Men to spirit them away, her friend Hisako caught in it as well. Miss Pryde aiming a gun at Emma Frost's head. "A bullet and a bullet," Ruth whispered as she passed the scene. Doctor McCoy tearing apart the bathroom where she'd hidden, his mind reduced to bestial savagery. Colossus in the medical room, locked in a furious battle with no one. Headmistress Frost bursting into the kitchen, a tear running down her perfect cheek. Headmaster Summers on his bed, glassy eyes staring vacantly. Mister Rasputin lifting Miss Pryde into a fierce, passionate kiss. Each new vision was thinner than the last, as though time were passing through a mesh filter.

She paused outside the day room, canting her head to the side as if she were listening to a distant sound. "I am, thank you, alone here. Pardon, in the Institute." Turning in place, she passed through the doorway, easily navigating the crowd of furniture in the room. "The others, yes, have all left."

Her head turned sharply, facing over her shoulder. "Yes, thank you, to the black." Ruth hugged herself tighter, squeezing her arms slightly through the shawl.

"The Earth, I'm sorry, is in danger." Her voice was soft, distant and lightly musical. She walked around the couch, slowly, as if in a trance. "They will try to stop it. They will, yes, try to save her."

Ruth breathed a soft sigh of regret. "They are going to fail."

Her hand dropped down to the arm of the couch, fingers tracing along the soft fabric. "I do not, please, understand," she said.

She glanced curiously toward the flat screen television hanging from the wall other end of the room. "I see, thank you. That is not how I, no, expected the world to end."

As if beckoned, she approached the television, one hand rising slowly to reach toward it. A horrified gasp escaped when fingers brushed the screen and she snatched her hand back as if it had touched a gout of flame. "Gone, but not gone," she whispered hoarsely. "Into the waking darkness."

Tears began to roll down her cheeks and darken her blindfold. Her knees folded out from under her and she dropped, clumsily holding herself from the waist up by clinging to the nearby entertainment center. "They think she will be, yes, lost, but they are wrong, pardon." She trembled violently at her private vision, weaving in place as her tears continued to flow.

"She will be found."

) – (

Deep within the infinite pits of Gehenna, atop the highest Hashmal Pillar, the demoness stirred within her onyx bastille, sensing a ripple in the fabric of Destiny. Eyes which had never known mercy opened and bent their malachite gaze beyond the Veil and Firmament, into the mortal world and further, until it reached the limitless void where the stars died. There it fell upon a silver tower forged of alien metal and the malice of a proud warrior race, bearing down upon the Earth like a dagger in the night. How such a crude promise of global ruin could serve also as the vessel of fate the demoness did not know, but it afforded her no small amount of dark amusement as she considered its inherent audacity.

She rose from her ivory seat, eyes never wavering from the mountainous bullet which grew ever closer with each passing second. Mystic chains hung from her wrists and ankles like heavy braids, binding her to her gilded cage, thrice-nine wards and enchantments spitting white fire around each link with every step she took. She walked as though they weighed nothing, stopping only at the ornately wrought arch which marked the prison's threshold.

The demoness gave voice to a single syllable of power from an ancient, lost tongue. Her eyes were bathed in a flash of golden light as the divinations she employed were magnified threefold. Strength enough to confirm her suspicions about the alien weapon; it _was_ the source of the wrinkles in Destiny's web. Wrinkles which might tear enough for her to exploit. She stood, awaiting her opportunity at the moment when weapon and target were joined. By this doom would she cheat the forces which had cast her down, a punishment she had endured for _shemittah_, seven thousand years by mortal ken.

A new presence intruded upon her awareness, momentarily interrupting her preparations. Her lips peeled back to reveal teeth braced in a snarl as she turned her focus upon these new players. It seemed there were others aware of the bullet as well, ones who feared its approach as much as she welcomed it. Even now they sought a means to stop or destroy it before it reached the Earth, and this she could not allow.

Her focus centered on one amongst the champions, a man regarded his generation's Sorcerer Supreme. He had power enough to be worthy of the name, but it was waning, and he was not yet aware of her own mystic probings. It would be through him she would stay the quest of those who would contest the bullet's progress.

Again she spoke, striking him with a special glamour of her own design. By the time he realized the danger, it was too late. He was quickly overwhelmed and the feedback radiated from him to all in his presence like chain lightning, extending the effects to each of them in turn. She left them, trapped in their own minds, victim to their heroic desires to save their planet. Mere illusion, but one they easily accepted because of the boon it granted. They would pose no further interference, and what little opposition remained was far from equal to the task, as they quickly proved in the remaining minutes before impact.

The tellurian world never felt the bullet's sting. It passed through the Earth as if no more than a terrible dream. Few saw enough to do more than draw a single breath of mindless fear. It was gone from all sight in less than the beating of a hummingbird's wing.

All of Gehenna, however, trembled and quaked with its passing, which was as the eclipsing of the sun in its duration. Whatever force had rendered it harmless to the planet itself ripped instead through the underworld with an unstoppable wrath. Coals vast as the Dead Sea split and toppled like mountains torn asunder. Streams of gall and poison churned and bubbled and overflowed to coat the landscape with their fowl broth. Pitch and sulfur flowed like rivers and boiled over, filling the air with black smoke. Fire became ice and ice became fire and from every corner of the boundless landscape arose the wails of the Eternal Damned as they knew torment greater than all the punishments of the abyss.

While the rest of the unholy writhed in lewd agony, the demoness spread her arms wide and set forth her enchantments, one for every accursed _tzaddikim _who had banished her to this place, each spell more powerful than the last. Her voice could scarcely be heard above the furious cacophony around her as the phantom bullet ravaged through Gehenna, yet she endured every torment, knowing if she slipped for even an instant she would lose her chance at escape and be left with naught but eternity. With the voicing of the final spell she cast them forth, wielding them like harpoons against the alien weapon, until they were as a mystic lattice binding her to it.

Immediately the bullet's passage carried her aloft, her feet rising slowly into the air while the chains she wore thrashed about, vomiting fire from every link until they were pulled to their fullest span. There they remained, taut and straining against the inexorable force now bearing the demoness. For one agonizing moment they held, and it seemed the struggle would end with her split in twain, snapped apart like so much hollow bone. Blazing light flared around the onyx floor where the chains were bolted, a spiderweb of ochre flame spreading from their centers until at last they failed and the chains were torn out of them in a roar like thunder and a rain of shattered stone and dust. The chains, no longer fixed to the demoness' prison, lost their enchantments and dissolved away in a spray of glittering powder, drifting into oblivion.

The demoness rose higher, until she reached the polished surface of the great monolith, the net of magic drawing itself around her until she was fully encased and clinging to the bullet like a drop of morning dew upon a leaf. All around her the sundering of Gehenna increased threefold as its hidden gates bulged against pressures beyond any they were built to contain and the Foundation Stone cracked. White-hot agony exploded through the demoness as the bullet tore a rift in the barrier between the Planes and she was drawn through it as if through a sieve. She heard an anguished, guttural scream and dimly realized it was her own voice making it. Her anguished cry became victorious a moment later, as the barrier finally reached its bursting point and yawned forth to permit the bullet and its new cargo to pass through.

Time sped to mortal keening, and when next the demoness opened her eyes it beheld the infinite black of the Void, _Olam ha-Zeh_ little more than a rapidly fading blue speck in the distance.

Diminished by her efforts, the demoness melted into her otherworldly salvation, seeking the hollow tip so that she might properly recover. The silvery metal looked solid, but she was able to pass through it as easily as mist and soon found the spacious chamber inside. Immediately her eyes fell upon another within the bullet, a young mortal woman wearing strange clothing, her prone form splayed along the floor in a semblance of death, one hand thrust ahead as if she were attempting to claw her way toward some illusion of grace before she'd succumbed. Yet life still remained, balanced on a needle's point, her very essence seeming to pour into the metal around her. This, then, was the true vessel of providence, the demoness realized. She would not have thought it possible for one mortal to take herself so far beyond her limits, to bend this ore-hewn behemoth to her will, thus rendering it harmless to all save herself. An entire planet, it seemed, now owed its continued existence to one of its daughters, as was the demoness indebted for her new freedom.

Seeking a better look at this remarkable young woman, the demoness gestured forth and uttered a simple cantrip. She rose as though lifted by invisible hands, gently, until she hung two cubits high. The connection severed, both mortal and bullet resumed solid form with such violence she cried out in anguish, though her eyes remained closed, skin pale, body rigid, a scant breath from death's shadowy embrace. The demoness set her back upon the floor and studied her with quiet interest.

She was of a delicate build, lithe and slender, yet clearly possessing fortitude enough to conquer the enormous ark bearing them hence. A blood iris carved from sapphire could not so perfectly blend such liquid grace and unyielding might into one deceptively fragile form. Her body was sheathed in finery of fuligin and sunlight, clinging to her like a second skin, boots and gloves completing the ensemble. The fabric was unlike any the demoness knew, strong and flexible, able to withstand the rigors of battle and the extremes of nature. A warrior's raiment. Most curious of all, her face was framed by soft silver waves, each lock of hair a match for the alien metal surrounding them. Not the natural hue of the young woman's tresses, an apparent legacy of her great sacrifice, more becoming than any battle scar.

The mortal's mind was as broken as her body and the demoness was cautious in sorting through so as not to damage it further. She beheld a confusing maelstrom of memories and emotions, but one name in particular bubbled close enough to the surface to catch her notice. _Ariel_, the Lioness of Wrath. It was surely a sign, for this young woman to have once carried the name of one of her sisters among the Fallen. Indeed there was buried deep within her soul an ember of evil, one which might be fanned into a glorious inferno. She saw that others had tried to possess her, greatest among them three women with golden hair and a devil-man from the Far East, but she had resisted them all. One more patient and skilled, however, might succeed in bringing her to her dark potential.

Such as herself.

Thus was the decision made, and the demoness bent her will to the task of mending the shattered patchwork of the young woman's mind, subtly weaving it into a form of her liking. Next she bent down and brought forth the Breath of Life to her waiting lips, infusing her with it until color slowly returned to her cheeks and a weak, trembling cough arose from her.

The demoness took one of the mortal woman's hands by the wrist and held it open, palm out. She made a fist over it with her other hand and from it poured tiny dewbuds of bread the color of coriander seed. The flow did not end until her hand was full of the sweet smelling resinous grain. She cradled the young woman's head with her hand, tilting it upright. "Eat of this _manna_," she said. "It will restore you."

Still too feeble to open her eyes, she meekly obeyed, taking in the magical food with slow, blind nibbles. With each small bite her skin lost its deathly pallor and her breathing became regular and strong. So too did her appetite as she consumed the _manna_ with increasing fervor, down to the very last speck and even then she gave her palm one experimental lick, an almost feline gesture, hoping to find just a little more. When the demoness guided her to her feet she drowsily obliged, as if lost in a dream.

"Thank you," she said when she came back to herself enough to lower her hand. Her voice was raspy and thin as still air. She opened her hazel eyes in slow degrees, carefully feeling out her growing vitality. A soft gasp of wonder escaped her lips when she looked upon the demoness standing before her, for she knew at a glance that she was in the presence of a being who bordered on the primordial.

Most would have seen a regal, statuesque woman with hair of silken jet, long enough to brush her ankles and smelling of fresh jasmine. Her tea and honey skin glowed with a soft, pale nimbus of morning light, as if the glamour within were too much for mere flesh to contain. The young woman was no stranger to those beyond mortal seeming, the demoness had gleaned that while sifting through her fractured memories. It would take much to unnerve this one, and far more than that to inspire awe, an ideal quality for her purposes. What she saw in the demoness went to places deep and primal, an undeniable recognition privy to few, one which rippled through her soul with the force of an earthquake.

"Am I dead?" It was not the first time a human had asked that question upon encountering the demoness.

The demoness canted her head and shook it slowly. "Very nearly." Her eyes sketched an indifferent survey of the plain metal surface surrounding them. "However, I can assure you the Bosom of Abraham is not so pedestrian as this."

For a moment it seemed the mortal's legs might fold beneath her. "What happened? Did it work? Is everyone okay?" She spoke in a rush, barely aware of what she was asking.

"All will be answered in due time," the demoness said, staying the inquiring flow. For now, she had answers of her own to procure. "Tell me who you are," she said, locking eyes with her. No question passed her lips where a command would suffice.

The woman made to answer, but her mouth staggered closed before any sound escaped. She tried again, only to fall into another unexpected silence. Confused eyes fell upon her benefactor, who said nothing as she looked at her expectantly. What slowly dawned within her was not so much realization as awareness, a new sense of purpose she willingly surrendered to. At last she spoke, sure and strong, her voice unwavering and with exactly the proper amount of humility.

"Your servant."

The demoness smiled.


	2. Chapter 2: Sunset in Westchester

Note: The X-Men are the property of Marvel Comics. They are used without permission and for purposes of entertainment only.

Silent Amber

Chapter 2 – Sunset in Westchester

The sky was just beginning to bud with the yellow-orange flame of new sunset as Peter made his daily pilgrimage through the grounds behind the mansion. The neatly trimmed grass was soft beneath his feet; he'd wandered off the path toward Breakstone Lake as soon as he'd cleared the athletic fields. To his left, an easy stroll away, stood a wall of leafy sycamores marking the border of the woods where he'd spent many a chill winter's afternoon chopping timber to keep everyone warm during the wolf hours, but that was not his destination this day. A pleasant, cooling breeze washed over him and played through the ebon locks of his hair in mild counterpoint to the somber way he moved and the gloom dawning anew in his heart as he cast his eyes to the sky. When he again looked ahead his mouth drew down into a surprised and concerned frown as he noticed that the gentle hilltop he was heading toward was already occupied.

Ruth sat with her knees folded against her chest, arms hugging her legs, facing the sunset as if she was watching it through the cloth blindfold covering her eyes. Peter supposed it was possible the mysterious young woman was doing exactly that. As he drew closer he noticed she was engaged in what appeared to be a deep conversation with someone who wasn't there. Telepathic communication, he surmised. Peter wasn't sure if she verbalized out of habit, preference, or some barrier to how her power functioned, and briefly wondered if he should raise the subject with Emma Frost. Whichever it was, she never seemed bothered by it or the curious looks she often got from her fellow students and a few of the teaching staff.

"Hello, Mister Rasputin," she said casually when he finished cresting the hill and came to a stop at her side. "It is, yes, about to start." She was still looking to the sky, but something about her tone made Peter wonder if she was talking about the sunset.

"Good afternoon, Ruth," he replied, deciding it best not to ask her to clarify the remark. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Thank you, no," she said. "We were, pardon, sharing stories." There was a subtle movement beneath her blindfold, as if one of her brows had quickly risen. "They like you. One says you remind them, yes, of an angel."

"Ah." A nervous chuckle hovered at the bottom of his throat, and he couldn't decide whether to bring it forth to conceal his confusion or not. Instead he opted for a more neutral, "That's very kind of them."

"They're gone, now. For the moment." Ruth unclasped her arms and rose steadily to her feet. There was something about her methodical grace and stately posture which made it difficult not to picture her as some Hellenistic oracle or sage, rather than one of the Institute's remaining students. Her worn, fringed shawl and modest dress only served to reinforce that impression. "I must leave as well. To prepare."

For what, Peter wondered, but doubted it was a good idea to ask her. He glanced down to where she'd been sitting and saw that the grass had already sprung back. She hadn't been here long, which made her enigmatic, yet still polite excuse seem more for his benefit than her own. "You're welcome to stay if you like," he assured the young woman. "I don't wish to chase you away."

"Thank you, thank you, no." She turned toward Peter. "It isn't time yet, for you to lead the way. When it is, yes, I will be there to guide, although I do not know how."

Peter blinked. "Guide me where?"

"Not where, pardon," Ruth said, giving her head a slow shake. She descended the hill, headed back toward the mansion.

"Ruth?"

The young woman gave no response. Lost in her own curious world of visions and mysteries, she kept walking, leaving Peter with no answers save silence. He watched her for a moment, unsure if he should follow or try calling her back again, before opting to simply shake his head ruefully and let her be. She had a habit of leaving him with more questions after they spoke than he'd come with. It was likely, he supposed, that he would never fully understand Ruth, but he knew enough to guess that she would explain what she meant when she was ready. How much of that explanation would make any sense to him remained to be seen. Still, he might raise the subject the next time their paths crossed, on the off chance she was in a more profuse mood.

Peter turned his attention away from Ruth's departing form and lifted his eyes to the palette of persimmon, deep saffron and cerise infusing the flat clouds stretching across the blazing sky. He drank in the sight, absorbing every shade and hue of the ever-shifting vastness, but his artist's soul found no succor or nourishment. Just as it had every day for the past week, Peter's mind added the face of a beautiful young woman with hazel eyes shining with intelligence and laughter, smiling down from above the clouds. The slowly fading sun and fiery clouds somehow made it easier to picture her. He tried to cling to the image, to somehow burn it permanently into his consciousness, but as always, it began to fade the instant it reached its fullest clarity, as if it were merely a random pattern created by dust and lake mist, creating a perfect arrangement for just one fleeting second before flowing off to whatever amorphous destiny wind and whim chose next.

It was all too easy to instead imagine Kitty in her present state. "_I'm in the cage I freed Peter from_," was what she had told Emma, and Peter knew he would never forget what it had been like in the prison Ord had made for him. Not for as long as he lived. After they returned to Earth, while Scott was busy dealing with the aftermath of the Breakworld's attack, Emma had approached Peter and offered to replay her last telepathic conversation with Kitty before she was lost. It was the best she could do for him, she explained, but also the least he deserved. Peter couldn't be sure, but it seemed very important to Emma, though he could not imagine why such a thing would matter at all to a woman like her. It was as much Emma's unexpected sincerity as his own desire to have one last piece of Kitty to hold in his memory that persuaded him to accept.

Somewhere in the distance a crow split the silence with a lonely, raucous squawk before bursting through the treetops and flying off to a destination known only to it. A calm breeze crossed the summit where Peter stood, bending blades of grass by his feet and ruffling his dark, even hair. He drew a deep breath; the air tasted faintly of cedar and molasses. The calmly rippling waters of the lake shimmered with the reflection of the sunset. In a few more minutes it would be over.

) – (

The silver monolith streaked through the void of space like a blur of hot mercury, indifferent to its course or lack of any target. It gluttonously consumed light years like dime store candy while stars winked in the distance as if urging it ever onward until it became just another forgotten speck in the celestial brew, eternity its only destination.

A soft, amber light caressed the rim of the bullet and quickly spread along the length of it until the entire surface was engulfed. The nimbus grew, brightening as it expanded into a lambent sphere until it could be mistaken for a baby star. Unseen within this sphere, the bullet's thundering momentum grew sluggish, floating within the heavens as if it had suddenly thickened into porridge around it. It continued to slow, until finally its speed was no more and it drifted aimlessly, a twig upon the cosmic sea.

The smooth metal rippled, as if it had suddenly gone liquid, waves travelling up and down along the shaft. It bulged, then slowly collapsed within itself, the tip flattening even as the rim widened, rounded contours becoming square and layered. It was as if the bullet had been melted into slag and was being silently poured into an invisible mold. The halo of light surrounding it dimmed and contracted like a lamp burning its last ounce of oil while the transformation continued. Formless mass took on precise dimension, expertly carved, until at last the light snuffed itself to reveal a majestic palace of brilliant silver metal.

It was as large as a small city, broad and low, ancient in design, as if some long forgotten ruin had risen out of time and shaken off the weathered stone coating it like so much dust. High walls surrounded the length, with walkways wide enough for three to walk abreast. Rows of interconnected buildings filled the lower level and flanked a grand stairway leading to the upper city, ringed by two more sets of unbreachable fortification. Above that lay an expansive courtyard, crowned by the grand temple and citadel, and finally, at the highest point, the throne room, almost a palace in its own right. Thick, elegant pillars encircled the monument by the dozen, highlighting its place amidst an already magnificent structure.

Kitty gazed about herself from the expansive throne room she found herself standing in. She blinked her eyes rapidly, as if it were all some spectacular illusion she had to capture behind her eyelids to preserve it in her memory before it all vanished leaving her back in the hollow of the bullet. It did not. One hand settled upon her heart as she breathlessly drank in the sight of marble steps, ivory statues and columns etched with delicate and beautiful carvings. Beneath it all and gleaming on every wall was the Breakworld metal, no polished to a brilliance that belied the dread purpose for which it had originally been forged.

She turned to face the immense window to the left of the throne and cautiously stepped toward it. Her footfalls echoed throughout the chamber with perfect clarity. Once before the window, she looked out upon the city, marveling at the sight of the shimmering walls and intricate architecture. Past its boundaries remained the emptiness of space, the stars seeming to sparkle in admiration of the new jewel before them.

"This is all so beautiful," Kitty breathed. "It doesn't seem possible."

"My precious child," a vibrant, angelic voice replied, "this is merely the beginning."

) – (

Peter did not start at the sudden explosion of purplish smoke or the sharp sound announcing Kurt's arrival. He didn't even crinkle his nose at the always pungent aroma that came with his teleportation effect. It had been a long time since his once-startling mutant power had taken Peter by surprise.

"Hello, Kurt."

"Good evening, Peter," Kurt said, moving to stand next to Peter. "Do you mind if I join you?"

"Never, my friend. I'm glad to have your company." Part of him had been expecting that his elfin teammate might show up. Hoping for it, even.

Kurt flashed him a warm smile and crouched down to enjoy the waning sunset, his wrists balanced against his knees and his tail coiled on the ground behind him. His posture made Peter feel like he was standing next to an indigo gargoyle. Peter couldn't imagine how he could possibly be comfortable in that position, but he'd seen Kurt adopt far stranger poses over the years, up to and including perching himself upside-down as if he were part possum. He supposed it was simply the way Kurt was built. It was difficult for Peter to imagine what even the simple act of walking would be like with a forked tail, three-toed feet and a lithe and agile body, and he was sure that Kurt, who had been born that way, would find it equally difficult to imagine life in Peter's tall, broad form.

"It is a beautiful sunset, _nicht wahr_?"

"Yes," Peter agreed without much conviction.

"Things change so quickly for us," Kurt said. "It's comforting to know some things, such as this view, remain constant."

Peter caught the sidelong look Kurt was giving him and heaved a slow, deep sigh. His friend was concerned, he could tell, and was trying to ease his way into coaxing a discussion out of him. He needn't have worried. Peter was in the mood to voice what was on his mind, and Kurt was right at the top of his list of people he was comfortable speaking with at the moment. "Not for me," he said. "I believe this will be the last I see here for a very long time."

Kurt's smile faded and his head turned to look at Peter directly. "Do I dare ask why that is?"

"I am leaving. Tomorrow." It was the first time he had said the words out loud, though they had been there, silently carving deep ruts in his mind and spirit, ever since the meeting with Scott. Peter fixed his eyes skyward, bracing himself for whatever reaction he might get from Kurt.

There was a long, palpable silence, Kurt softly flicking his tail from side to side as he studied Peter, who steadfastly refused to meet his gaze. Finally, Kurt spoke, his voice thick with careful deliberation. "It seems you've thought this through."

"I have."

"And yet," Kurt said, rising out of his crouch, "unless I'm mistaken about my being the first to hear of this, and knowing how quickly gossip spreads here I'm certain that isn't the case, you haven't availed yourself of a friend's council before reaching a decision, despite having a full week to do so." He'd noticed something was going on with Peter, it seemed, even if he'd chosen not to approach him about it until now. There was an edge to Kurt's voice, a mixture of concern and disappointment. There was, however, no note of surprise. "A friend who might be able to point out any potential flaws, of which there are sure to be many, as well as suggest alternate courses of action."

Peter's lips tightened. He shook his head sadly. "What you mean to say, is someone who might try to change my mind, but my mind will not be changed. Not for this."

"I only mean there are better ways to cope with what's happened. And that it's healthier to do so in the company of those who care for you." Kurt's lips quirked into a self-deprecating smirk. "Take it from someone who's already made that mistake."

Peter caught the reference to Kurt's personal moment of crisis just before their first battle with the Marauders, and shook his head with fervor. "Cope? That for when things have ended. When there is nothing left to do." At last he turned, looking Kurt in the eyes. "I am not leaving to hide or wallow or collapse inside myself. This is no mistake. I understand 'what has happened' better than most. And Scott, I think, doesn't understand it at all." Peter's jaw was set with determination when next he spoke, "She needs help, and every moment I spend doing nothing takes her further away."

"You aren't being fair. To yourself or to Scott."

Peter scoffed bitterly. "I have been more than fair to him. But I refuse to believe Katya's fate is best left only in the hands of Scott and his 'top men.' If they cannot find her, I must."

"Even if your are hurt in the process?"

"She would do no less for any of us," Peter asserted, slicing the air with his palm. "She has done no less, many times. It is the way things are supposed to be among the X-Men, is it not? It seems to me we are doing a poor job of living up to her example." He inhaled deeply through his nose, his blue eyes alight with the fierceness of his conviction. "There is no pain I would not endure to bring her back. I would give my life for her. I would give up my soul and more, without hesitation." His eyes returned to watch the sky. The horizon had finished swallowing the sun, leaving only a radient crown of yellow light to mark where it lay. The clouds had begun to turn dark and bruise colored, mirroring Peter's mood. His voice became softer. "I would have none of those things now, had she not found me."

Kurt mulled that over, fingers pinching his chin in thought. "You always were a passionate soul," he said fondly. "But I wasn't referring to what you may have to do to find her. For her to have phased so much… It would be like me trying to teleport something of that size. It isn't pleasant to think about, but it's possible she could not have survived. More than possible, in fact. Suppose you do find her, and she hasn't. What then?"

Peter's answer was slow in coming, but no less certain. "Then I will bring her home, where she can be given a proper burial. She deserves better than that abomination for a tomb." He waited for Kurt's answering nod before continuing. "I think you are wrong, however. She is alive. I feel it in my heart." Peter felt a surge of emotion, and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and finger to stem the flow. His voice began to crack despite his efforts. "When the Professor asked me to join the X-Men, Papa told me I should always listen to what my heart says, that it would never betray me. Instead, I chose to follow my conscience and go with Xavier. I will not ignore what my heart says this time. It would be better, I think, if I did not listen to it only when it is broken."

"That isn't true," Kurt said, laying a hand on his friend's shoulder. "It only seems that way because it comes so naturally to you, that those are the only times you've noticed it. If there is any man who follows his heart better than you, I haven't met him. I think that, more than anything, is why I'm concerned about what you're planning. This isn't exactly the best time to be alone."

A spark of amusement crept over Peter's face, easing the gloom that had befallen it. "Are you suggesting I bring you along?"

"I've had worse ideas in my time." Kurt tossed him a lopsided grin. "Besides, I could use an adventure. Not that things are ever dull around here, of course."

"Of course," Peter agreed, returning the smile. A moment later, though, he shook his head. "As much as I would have your company on this, Scott would never allow it. Ever since so many mutants were depowered he has been closing ranks, keeping as many X-Men and mutants around him as he can, guarding them almost like a miser. Each new crisis we have faced only makes things worse with him. It will be difficult enough persuading him to accept that I am leaving." He gave the communicator on his belt a light pat. "I will keep this, however. So long as you and the others are only a call away, I am never truly alone."

As if awakened by his words, the devices on their belts went off, the tiny red signal lights flaring to life. Quick on their heels was the sound of Scott's stiff, commanding voice over the mini-speakers. _Kurt, Peter, suit up and report to the Hangar. We're needed in Utah._

"Case in point," Kurt said.

For a moment Peter resentfully glared at the communicator before unleashing a sigh of bemusement. "Yes, there is that, too," he conceded. "What could possibly be in Utah that needs the X-Men?"

"Only one way to find out." Kurt's smile widened, revealing his sharp canines. "What do you say," he said, offering his hand. "One last bit of heroics and daring-do before you leave?"

Peter considered it for a moment. "Why not?" he said, accepting Kurt's hand. "Perhaps we will even finish in time for me to enjoy the sunset twice."

Kurt barked an amused laugh. "That's the spirit!" A second later the pair were engulfed in a swirling, violet cloud as Kurt teleported them back to the mansion.

* * *

Scott – Thank you very much for your review. Feedback is always appreciated. It may take me a while, but I will certainly finish this story.

Dark-bat – I know exactly what you mean about how characters can be rendered unintelligible by the way their voices are written. Blindfold is a tough one, but very important to the story, so I hope to keep her sounding right. Glad you enjoyed my first chapter and I hope you continue to enjoy the entire story.


	3. Chapter 3: The Sitra Ahra

Note: The X-Men are the property of Marvel Comics. They are used without permission and for purposes of entertainment only.

Silent Amber

Chapter 3 – The Sitra Ahra

It began as an electric whisper, a charge in the air, barely noticeable save for a sudden stirring in the wind sending little dust devils careening off in random directions to the rocky bluffs, mesas and painted sandstone surrounding the lonely highway where they dissipated as quickly as they'd formed. Nothing that could distract from the tranquil afternoon beauty ofZionNational Park's east entrance. What few hikers, campers and nature lovers happened to be nearby could hardly be expected to espy such a phenomenon. Even if they had, most would simply write it off as nothing more than a fleeting curiosity, or at best think it some harbinger of an unseen storm on distant approach. Only a Siberian laika with a large, picnicking family sensed the unnatural disturbance enough to lift its head from its water dish and utter a low growl. The dog folded its ears back and arched its haunches, eyes fixed upon the energy's core, poised to charge or flee and unable to decide on which instinct to succumb. The mother, thinking it had spotted some desert rodent, followed its gaze in time to see the air crackle with thin, purplish lightning, weaving through the air like a thread caught adrift in the wind. As she looked on it expanded to thrice its original length and widened, drawing the attention of others who stared and pointed at the lambent, gyrating cord. A curious child took a few tentative steps toward it, only to be swept up by his protective mother. Her caution proved justified when the lightning suddenly shot at once toward the ground and into the sky, becoming a column of electric fire three meters tall. It emitted a loud, angry sounding hum. People began to scream; many fled to their cars. The park ranger at the gate station fumbled for his two-way radio. The column rose higher before unfolding from its zenith, spreading open to become an arch, the radiant energy serving as its frame. Below the arch smaller threads of electricity shot back and forth, creating a dance of spider-web patterns. More bolts filled the space, until it became a solid, glowing surface, like a mirror glass filled with its own light. A dark figure stepped out from it.

The being was a woman, tall and statuesque, clad in chitinous jet armor with crimson fringe, sleek leather gloves and boots stretching no further than her wrists and ankles. A sinister looking whip was hooked to her slender waist, coiled into a tight hoop, the butt end of the handle tucked neatly against the scarlet sash she wore, ready to be snapped up in an instant. Her skin tone was dusky and smooth, her short dark hair pasted against her head in taut ringlets. She looked about with cold disdain, thin lips in an even line, her eyes like polished obsidian, gleaming with hunger and malice.

The shining portal spat out four others, equally bizarre and terrifying as the first, the sight of them prompting horrified shrieks from those few park visitors who had not yet fled. Emerging first was a spindly man whose feet never touched the ground, hovering half an inch in the air as he drifted forward. His alabaster skin was like melted wax, smooth with an unnatural gloss, his face bisected by a scar so deep it had become a permanent fissure extending from his left eye to the right side of his chin. A richly patterned and ornamented _shenti_ and matching girdle adorned him, the silken fabric taut against his thin frame. Completing the outfit was a mantle slung over his shoulder and a round cap atop his head. A thick beard framed his face, groomed into four rows of long, tight curls. The panicking mortals surrounding the company received little more than a dismissive glance from him. At his side stepped a great carrion bird formed of blackened smoke, a shadow given substance. It was the tallest of the party, the top of its bulbous head looming well above the others, bobbing in sharp, pistoning beats as it looked left, then right, then back again. Its wings were tucked back, rising behind like a darkling cloak, wisps of ash wafting off of each feather tip with every thudding step it took. No features could be observed behind the swirling cloud that was its flesh, save one: a pair of emerald eyes that glowed like twin flames, deep, cruel and ravenous.

Loping through next came a hyena large enough to face a great bear, scraping at the desert floor with forepaws that could almost pass for human hands but for the long, blackened claws adorning each gnarled digit. Hundreds of colors rippled across his fur with a life of their own, the hairs shifting from one end of the spectrum and back in a nauseating gamut that resembled light reflecting off an oil slick. Standing upon him was a beautiful woman wearing nothing save a crescent moon crown. Her footing was sure as if she stood on a grassy meadow, and her balance remained unnaturally smooth regardless of how erratic the monstrous hyena moved. She was pale to the point of nearly glowing under the light of the sun, her lips full and red as freshly spilled blood. Her eyes were pools of palatinate, wide and bright and her long, raven black hair was woven into many thin braids. In one slim hand she held three lotus blossoms, the other a long leash which was securely fastened to a bejeweled collar about the hyena's neck.

"Patience, Tzavua," the woman told her monstrous steed in a honeyed voice. She swept her gaze over the mortals, now fallen to blind panic as they scrambled for their vehicles like vermin fleeing an inferno. "These trifles are not our prey. For the time."

The archway flared even brighter as a final figure crossed through it. The others, from man to beast, sketched deep bows as they made way. It was an ancient man with thin, graying skin stretched over a skeletal frame. Deep, hollow sockets cast a dark shadow over the cold, topaz marbles that were his eyes. His wrinkled face was riddled with dark spots and open sores, some oozing thick, greenish puss. Stringy whiskers sprouted from his chin in a spray of white. The rest of his hair was hidden beneath an ebon _yarmulke. _He wore an equally dark _caftan_, his withered arms poking through the sleeves like knotted sticks. One of his hands held a gnarled yew staff.

"We are close," the man said. His sharp voice seemed to cast the air about him in shadow. His face split into a crooked grin, revealing rotted, picket-fence teeth. "The wards and cloaking enchantments have already begun to weaken." Behind him, the archway shrank to a writhing thread of electricity before it vanished in a rumble of thunder.

The pale-skinned woman regarded him for a moment, then turned her eyes toward the cliffs painted in reddish gold and eggshell surrounding them. "How bold these mortals have become, to treat such a barren waste as a place of leisure," she said.

Tires shrieked and spat thick clouds of dust as cars drunkenly weaved onto the road and raced away. Seeing this, the scarred man laughed sardonically. "They do not seem so bold at the moment, Kadesh."

"Disgusting," proclaimed the armored woman. She spat upon the road. "They would not have dared under my dominion."

The shadow-vulture snapped its beak, as if tasting the air. "My children still flourish," it replied. It spoke with a voice like a furnace. "As do yours, Ushharay." The armored woman snorted in response. As if sensing her mood for violence, Tzavua gave an excited yip and pawed at the road again.

"Enough," snapped the ancient man. "If you wish to waste your breath on the habits of modern mortals, do it on your own time. We need not concern ourselves with them now."

Ushharay sneered back at him. "Speak with more respect, della Reina. For all your power, you are still a mortal yourself." The giant bird clicked her beak in agreement, green eyes burning.

"Soon that will change. Until then, you and Samal are welcome to challenge me, if you dare." Della Raina slowly turned a hard gaze from one to the other, baclkened lips curling inward. "You might even defeat me. At which point you will answer to _her_."

The bird named Samal clicked again, uttering a low and angry hiss, but both she and Ushharay lowered their heads in submission.

"Perhaps these mortals are not all so easily dismissed," the scarred man said, inclining his head toward the gate stations. There, the park ranger was watching them from behind a corner, still speaking frantically into his two-way radio. "This one appears to be summoning the guard."

Della Reina answered with a dismissive wave. "Let them come. Let them send their armies, if they dare. They cannot oppose us." He gripped his staff in both hands, raised it, then rapped it against the road. A webwork of yellow light radiated from the impact point, splitting like cracks as they stretched into the surrounding earth.

Radiant circles bloomed as each thread reached a terminus, and where those bright flashes faded, the ground became pools of soft clay. Those pools swelled, rising like pillars to a height of ten feet. The pillars trembled, then compressed as if invisible molds were squeezing them into shape. Their forms became vaguely human; the suggestion of a head, arms and legs. The features became more distinct and refined, until finally there stood over a score imposing clay warriors. Glowing script ran the length of their arms and legs, and upon each forehead was written a word three characters long. The words pulsed with a faint glow, and the newly created _golems_ slowly opened pale, blank eyes. A mindless sound, almost a groan, escaped their lips, and they moved with zombielike grace, forming ranks four abreast behind della Reina and his unholy band.

"I place these _golems_ under your command, Ornasis," della Reina said, looking to the other man. "If any try to interrupt, see to it they are persuaded to think better."

Ornasis inclined his head forward in a slight bow.

Della Reina gestured to the northwest with his staff. "The Korah Gate lies in this direction. Soon it shall fall." He began to walk along the road and the others followed. The park ranger, still crouched behind the dubious protection of the gate station, watched as they faded into the distance, past a sign which read only, "Checkerboard Mesa Viewpoint Ahead."

) – (

The Blackbird streaked across the sky like a speck ofmidnighttrying to escape the sun's enveloping gaze. Miles were consumed by the dozens every minute as it crossed west across the continent. Peter sat silent and stern, gazing down at the clouds through his window, the depths of his eyes a fitting match for the brilliant blue on the other side of the glass. He wondered, not for the first time, if he might have made a mistake in agreeing to come along on this mission.

"So far they haven't harmed anyone that we know of," Cyclops said, one hand cupping an ear as he listened to a series of transmissions. "They're ignoring the tourists who've stumbled into their path, and the state troopers are keeping their distance."

"Smart," Wolverine grunted. "We won't have to worry about rescuing them when we get down to business."

"And just who _are_ we dealing with?" Emma Frost asked from her seat across the aisle from Peter.

"We haven't been able to make a positive ID yet," Nightcrawler said. He was in the copilot's seat, studying a readout on the control panel. "The details are sketchy and the police have ordered the news helicopters in the area back, so we don't have any decent visuals to run through the computer yet. All we know for certain is that there are five or six in the main force. The two dozen or so others appear to be troops of some kind. Possibly wearing power armor."

"Minions," Wolverine said, cracking his knuckles. "Nice of them to bring their own cannon fodder."

Beast stroked his leonine chin thoughtfully. "Given the eyewitness reports, the most prudent course of action may be to assume that we are dealing with as-yet unknown adversaries."

"Aliens, perhaps?" Nightcrawler ventured.

"Sure hope not, Elf," Wolverine said. "I've had my fill of 'em for a long while."

"Well said," Beast agreed, offering him a toothy grin.

A wave of painful memories rushed through Peter at the mention of aliens. Battling the Imperial Guard. His near-fatal encounter with Deathbird. The Brood. Every second of torment endured at the hands of Ord. Katya. Lost. Perhaps for all time. No, he refused to accept it. He stiffened. His brows drew down and he tightened his grip on the windowside armrest.

"It's not aliens," Cyclops informed them. "Or at least, it's very unlikely. We weren't aware of the attack until after we left the Hangar."

Nightcrawler looked at the X-Men's leader curiously. "Then…?"

"Cerebra," Peter stated in an even voice.

Cyclops nodded. "Peter's right. I've put the Cuckoos there to run regular scans. They picked something up, right about the time our new friends showed up."

"So they're mutants?" Nightcrawler asked.

"We're not sure at the moment," Cyclops said. "Cerebra's readings were strong, but unable to confirm the nature one hundred percent. Whatever it is, we need to investigate after we teach them better manners."

Wolverine crossed his arms. "And if Stark shows up with the Utah Initiative?"

"They won't," Cyclops assured them. "The Called are still at the Academy, and if Cerebra's readings aren't a mistake, then this is a mutant issue, which puts it in our jurisdiction."

Peter's expression darkened again. "Official policy, or a gentleman's agreement between you and Stark?"

"Something like that," Cyclops said, missing the tone of Peter's voice. "Tony understands how vital it is that we follow every lead we find."

Wolverine scowled. "And if we happen to make him look good in the process, even better, right?"

"He scratches our back, we scratch his?" Peter added.

Cyclops frowned, as if he weighing his next words. "I understand your concerns. Both of you, but like it or not, we rely on him as much as he relies on us." That earned him more than a couple near-mutinous looks, but he pressed on. "At the end of the day, we're still heroes."

"Stark may have won the Registration War, and he may be Head of SHIELD, but I will no longer flatter him with that term," Peter said. "I don't care what he thinks of us being there. There are people in danger. They need to be protected. That is what is important to me."

"Of course they are," Cyclops said. "Everything else comes later. That's the mission."

Peter nodded, but was not satisfied with the answer. Once again, he was certain he'd made a mistake in answering Cyclops' call, despite what Kurt had said on the grounds outside the mansion. The more Scott came to depend on Peter's strength on these missions, the more difficult it would be for him to accept that he was leaving. Peter said nothing, smoothing his features to conceal the turmoil of his thoughts.

_You'll have to do better than that, Piotr, or one of the boys will start asking questions I'm sure you'd prefer not to answer just yet._

Peter's eyes darted toward Frost, who appeared to be preoccupied with filing her nails.

_Don't intrude in my thoughts without invitation_, he replied, pushing the message through the tether of telepathy she had woven between them.

_I haven't, actually_, she sent back. _Other than to link our minds for this conversation. I didn't need to. It's written all over your face. I know the look of a man preparing to make a quick departure._

Peter hesitated, eying her warily. _There is no point trying to talk me out of it_.

_I intend to do nothing of the sort._ Frost almost sounded amused. _This is between you and Scott. He won't hear a word about it until you're ready to speak to him._

Normally the thought of trusting her with anything would have been out of the question, but there was something he couldn't quite put his finger on that made him hesitate. After a moment he finally replied with a reluctant, _Spaceba_. Then, _When did you start calling me 'Piotr?'_

Frost's grip on her emery board faltered just a fraction. _Did I?_ she replied. _It's the telepathic link, I except. Sometimes I default to whatever someone prefers to be called._

Peter looked at her skeptically. Years of painting, of studying the subjects of his portraits, had given him a knack for reading people, and though she was hiding it well, Emma had been surprised, and now she was uncomfortable. He could not guess why, and she was clearly not willing to answer, so he decided to let it drop.

"It looks like they're heading towardsSouthArielPeak," Cyclops said as he examined a display next to the one occupying Nightcrawler's attention.

"Never heard of it," Wolverine growled. "Somethin' special about it, Slim?"

Beast chimed in to answer. "Apart from the views it affords, which, incidentally, are quite spectacular, very little, I'm afraid."

"It would seem they believe otherwise," Kurt said. "They're moving too slow and methodically for this to be random destruction."

"More like they own the place," Wolverine grunted.

"Perhaps they think they do," Emma Frost mused.

"They're looking for something," Cyclops concluded. "I have no idea what, but we'll see to it they leave disappointed. Let's start getting ready, everyone. We arrive in ten."

) – (

"Here." Della Reina stopped at the edge of the summit and breathed deep of the air. It was crisp and dry, but on the fringe, faint beyond mortal ken, hints of pitch and sulfur lingered. Far below, mortals in uniform had established a loose and distant perimeter along the road next to the peak. He paid them no mind as he walked purposefully to the center of the plateau. His company followed, the mindless _golems_ bringing up the rear, crushing rocks beneath their feet wherever they stepped. "The first step toward our new destiny begins with this."

The ancient sorcerer raised his arms to the heavens, clasping his staff in both hands. A nimbus of jade fire enveloped the yew wood, casting a sickly glow upon della Reina and the congregation atop the peak. "I stand before the Gateway, forgotten by the chronal march, hidden by enchantments both infernal and divine," he murmured. "I bring Joshua's Key, you cannot deny my will or command. Heed me and be revealed!" He then spoke the Word, his voice throbbing with its power. The ground beneath their feet trembled like a quail's heartbeat, great cracks broke the surface and split boulders. A furious howl arose from the earth, as if the entire rise were threatening to crumble to nothing beneath them. Tazvua clawed at the ground and uttering a laughing bark, but the others stood calm, their footing unbroken. The flames about della Reina's staff flared bright as a second sun, and a nearby tor answered in kind.

The stone surface of the tor fractured like an eggshell, the seams bursting with golden light. Hunks of charred rock fell like scabs, collapsing to dust wherever they landed, leaving in their place a pyramid of light twice the height of a man. A deafening noise like a chorus of sirens split the air like hell itself had exhaled upon them. The sound faded, as did the light, and the air once again grew still. Where the rocky outcropping had stood now lay a crystal archway. It shimmered, as if viewed through smoke, and was the same viewed from every angle. Just past its threshold there appeared to be a dark mound, oblong and smooth, like a pearl coffin.

Della Reina's decayed lips widened into an elative smile. He took a step toward the archway, and everything around them exploded. The sorcerer snapped his staff before him and the conflagration split as if cleft by a blade, rolling to each side and leaving him and the others untouched by its fury. His hands shook with exertion as he concentrating on holding it at bay, and great beads of sweat broke the surface of his ruined forehead. A second later, the blaze vanished, as if it had been no more than a candle flame.

Standing proudly in front of the archway was a tall man wearing golden armor. Pale hair billowed about in the steady breeze. His face, impossibly beautiful, looked upon the intruders with silver eyes. A pair of wings sprouted from his back, feathers the color of milk, the span more than seven meters.

Della Reina met him with a mocking grin. "Hail, Guardian of the First Gate. Hail, Overlord of the Wicked. Hail Kipod, Prince of the Lower Realms. We offer greetings to thee."

"Who dares approach?" the man said.

Samal opened her beak and cawed terribly, spreading her wings wide as if to contest Kipod's own grandness. Ushharay uncoiled her whip and cracked the air before her. Kadesh glided down from Tzavua in a single smooth mothion, allowing the hyena-beast to hunch forward, growling and clawing. Ornasis' waxy face shifted into a feral horror, eyes darkening and deep ridges rippling along his forehead. Inch-long claws sprouted from his fingers. He hissed, revealing a mouth full of sharklike teeth. "We are the _Sitra Ahra_," della Reina said in answer to Kipod's question. "And we dare much more."

"Thou'rt fools," Kipod proclaimed. He extended his hand, and a greatsword materialized in the air before him. He grasped it by the handle and pointed the blade at them menacingly. "Depart from this place whilst thou can, or thy life shall be forfeit."

Della Reina cackled with delight. "We shall see," he answered. Then, to others he said, "Destroy him."

* * *

Zedax – Thank you very much. I know I've kept you waiting for this chapter, but hopefully I'll have more regular submissions from this point forward.

Xakko – Glad to know the story's off to a good start and that you approve of my take on Piotr. I was disgusted with the way Piotr had been written and how Kitty's return was handled, and let myself become discouraged. I do feel I have a good story to tell, however, so I'm pushing myself back into it. I hope you continue to find it enjoyable.


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